


Fuck Points

by orphan_account



Series: Dys Verse [2]
Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Bottom Brendon Urie, Bottom Dallon too, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, I am so sorry, I love her but what a bitch, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, My friend Ryan, Not Ryan Ross I love him, People walk in on stuff too, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, There is a lil blood play but not really, Top Dallon Weekes, Whatta bitch, Whipping, breath play, but like slightly, cause why not, degrading, fuck you ryan, just cause I don't like it, this whole fic is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22630789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dallon presses a kiss to the top of Brendon’s head. “Just fucking, huh? Gonna be honest with you, I thought you were referencing a…sex game or something. Is that a thing?”Never one to miss an opportunity, Brendon pulls out a notepad. “It can be.”++++++++++++++++++Brendon and Dallon come up with a fun new game to play. The winner gets to be on top for a week. Dallon agrees, thinking he'll always win. But Brendon has a few tricks up his sleeve.(Story discontinued because Brendon Urie is a bad person.)
Relationships: Brendon Urie/Dallon Weekes
Series: Dys Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628056
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Whipping

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a bit of a continuation of Dysfunctional (the stories are in the same universe). Why am I posting a continuation of Dysfunctional, when I have not finished it? I lost a bet. Anyway.

“You know, I have so much power right now,” Brendon says, absentmindedly stroking Dallon’s dick. “I could give you pleasure. I could give you death.”

Dallon just looks at him, incredulous. It was too late for teasing, Dallon thinks. People will be getting up soon. People will find us. 

If any exasperation shows on Dallon’s face, Brendon doesn’t see it. “Which one is it, Dally?” he asks, slowing his movements down to a torturous pace. “Pleasure? Or death?”

Fuck.

“Death,” Dallon answers. “I’d rather be dead than listen to your banter.”

Brendon removes his hand. 

He then drapes himself over Dallon’s body. Now there’s skin everywhere, filling up his nostrils and arms. Limbs interlock, and for a moment Dallon thinks he could stay forever like this, every part of himself touching some part of Brendon. Getting to run his fingers through Brendon’s hair. Getting to kiss Brendon’s forehead as he feels the boy’s erection brush against his thigh. Sometimes it was nice to just lie back, and give up control.

Then Brendon starts grinding against him. “Oh—“

It’s not that hard, flipping Brendon over, and spreading his legs. They’ve gotten to the point where it’s just so fucking easy, where they know exactly what the other likes. Dallon slides in without a second thought, and Brendon grabs at Dallon’s shoulders almost instinctively. No prep, no lube, cause that’s how Brendon likes it. Second nature, really. It’s quick, it’s dirty, and it’s so damn good.

Still, Dallon wants more.

If only he knew what that ‘more’ was.

  
  


Free period. The clock ticks. The dyed-yellow walls peel and seniors and freshmen alike make rude jokes and throw balls of paper. Brendon used to love the no-rules atmosphere, where he would float from group to group. One game of paper football with the jocks. One jaded discussion with the goths. A few squeal-filled conversations with the cheerleaders. That was his routine for years. Lately, he’s been ditching it all to hang out with Dallon. He tries to rationalize it in his mind: he’s new in my life. He lives with me. He knows a lot about me. It’s only natural that we spend a lot of time together.

He knows that’s not it. Deep down, he’s aware that he likes Dallon. Likes him so much. He likes Dallon for his strong arms and quick comebacks, his cute smile and teasing whispers. He likes spending time with Dallon because Dallon could never bore him. He knows it’s costing him. The cheerleaders are just as friendly, but they’ve stopped asking where he keeps disappearing to. He hasn’t been to a big party in weeks. But hey, he gets to spend time with Dallon. It all works out in the end. 

Now they’re huddled in an empty hallway, passing a sheet of paper back and forth, filling it with crude details. It’s nice because Dallon’s shoulders are pressed up against his own, and Dallon’s a much better artist than he is, making his sketches look like stick figures.

Brendon rests his head on Dallon’s shoulder. “Cheater. Should’ve told me you were fucking Michelangelo.”

Dallon could never take a compliment. “Michelangelo was a sculptor. I can’t sculpt for shit.”

“You know what I mean!” Brendon protests, his voice echoing in the hallway. For a minute, he worries about someone finding them. They’re not doing anything explicit, just leaning on each other. Just enjoying the other’s company. But that could be enough. To expose them. 

Then Dallon puts his hand on Brendon’s knee, and Brendon stops worrying. “What’s this, hm?” he asks, pointing to a particularly rude doodle in the corner. Two blushing cupids, one buried deep inside the other. Beside them, a billowing banner reads ‘Fuck Points’.

“Oh. Just a thing I think I heard on this Christian radio station. Some guy was walking about ‘good points’ and ‘bad points’ and well…” Brendon trails off, and smirks. “These angels aren’t exactly focused on good and evil.”

Dallon presses a kiss to the top of Brendon’s head. “Just fucking, huh? Gonna be honest with you, I thought you were referencing a…sex game or something. Is that a thing?”

Never one to miss an opportunity, Brendon pulls out a notepad. “It can be.”

  
  


It only takes a bit until Dallon’s smiling, and saying those three magical words. “Okay, first. Rules.”

Brendon nods. “My automatic would be that when a person wins, they don’t get extra privileges besides getting to top. No ignoring safe-words, stuff like that.”

Dallon raises an eyebrow. “You say that like I’m not gonna win.”

Goddammit, Dallon is hot when he’s cocky. Brendon shakes his head. He has to concentrate. He is going to win. He is. And he’s going to look good while doing it. “A-another rule. Teasing only counts at school. You can only earn points from getting me off in the janitor’s closet, not from getting me off at home.”

Of course, Dallon slides a hand between Brendon’s thighs. “So,” he says, fingers tracing the patch of skin right next to Brendon’s crotch, which was just unfair really, “this would count?”

“I—“ Brendon nods, already feeling himself getting hard. He will never get used to the way Dallon takes his breath away with just a touch. He hopes to one day be half as good at making the taller boy helpless.

For a second, it feels like they might just fuck right there, in the hallway where anyone could see. The thought turns Brendon on more than he’d like to admit. He remembers fucking in a theater bathroom—how dirty it felt. How it made his skin crawl to think of the thousands that had gone before them, of the people waiting patiently outside the door as Dallon thrust into him. He came with three fingers over his mouth. 

Then, Dallon pulls his hand back. He instead pulls Brendon close to his chest with a laugh, and they just sit for a while. Taking in the sun.

  
  


A My Chemical Romance poster on the wall. A pile of rotting leaves in one corner. The unmistakable smell of hidden candy next to the bookshelves. Brendon welcomes the aura. It’s his brother, Ryan’s room, and he intends to use it for the time being. To do what, he’s all too sure.

One quick spin in the center. Brendon feels a soft crunch underneath his foot. 

“Ah, shit.”

He looks up just in time to see a pair of betrayed eyes. Ryan’s back early, the last sensible cell in his brain observes. And you’ve just broken his contacts.

Brendon grimaces. “Ryan, I’m so—“

“You can’t fuck in my room,” Ryan says, holding aloft an all-too-familiar sheet of lined paper. Brendon’s mind flashes back to him and Dallon writing on it earlier, in an unspoken contest to get the other hard with only words. “No matter how good the ‘acoustics’ are.”

Now that was being a little drastic. Brendon clears his throat, and tries to look both presentable and pitiful. “Ryan, you don’t understand.”

“Out.”

“It’s not just about the—“

“Out!” 

And with a slamming of the door, Brendon Urie has been kicked out.

Dallon is lying down in the middle of the hallway, just outside Ryan’s room. Brendon quickly straddles him, pressing soft kisses to the underside of his chin. He doesn’t know how long Dallon’s been waiting there, but he knows he must’ve heard Ryan’s half-shouts. 

At the feel of two hands gripping his ass, Brendon gasps. “You sound so innocent,” Dallon whispers. “You’re not innocent at all, and we both know it.”

Brendon melts into the subsequent heated kiss, letting out little whimpers when Dallon bites his lip. He tries all the tricks he knows—tugging on Dallon’s hair, mouthing at that certain place on Dallon’s neck—but still remains under Dallon’s control. 

“Like it, Dally, I like that, please!” Brendon babbles, his words descending into nonsense. But Dallon understands. Of course he does.

“Please, huh? It’s nice to hear you beg.”

“Mm!” And with Dallon pressing himself somehow even closer, Brendon feels his stomach twist.

Dallon smirks into the kiss. “My little cockslut.”

“I—feels really, Dally—“

“My gorgeous little cockslut.”

It’s just that Dallon knows him—he knows which spots make Brendon weakest, which filthy words to murmur into Brendon’s ears. Dallon Weekes is an expert in the subject of Brendon Urie. 

He bites Brendon’s earlobe, and it just makes Brendon rut against his thigh harder, cause now they’re grinding desperately. Somehow they ended up like this, intertwined on top of a hallway rug. 

“Want—“ Brendon shudders.

“What do you want, Bren? Come on, tell me.” 

“You, I want…fuck, I—“ He looks into Dallon’s eyes, and feels the strong hands pushing him down. He contemplates sinking into Dallon’s arms, and never leaving. Not the worst fate in the world. Not at all. 

A loud clap near Brendon’s ear.

“You can’t fuck just outside my room either!” Ryan shouts. He has his phone in one hand, and a frying pan in the other. The flowers on his shirt disguise the anger in his eyes.

Z Berg’s voice can be heard faintly from the phone. “You’ve got to be more assertive,” she’s saying. 

Brendon scrambles off Dallon’s lap, taking the time to button up his shirt. Dallon just gets up, composed despite his messy hair and clothes. Ryan looks at them as if they’re devils. Evil incarnate. Maybe they are.

“Just…” Ryan sighs. “Far away from me. Please.”

Before Brendon can nod his head, Dallon is scooping him up, and carrying him bridal style from room to room. They quickly become swept up in each other again. It’s all skin and giggles, whispers and little bites. They fall onto a couch, and Brendon somehow finds himself on his knees, Dallon’s leaking cock in his face.

Truth be told, he can’t complain. 

He leans forward, hesitantly—he’s always a little anxious at the beginning, a little worried things won’t work out—licking a stripe up the side of his length, then a little lower, then all the way down to his slit. Dallon makes a positively inhuman noise, something between a whine and a groans, encouraging Brendon to speed up, for god’s sake. He trails his tongue along the inside of Dallon’s thighs, and resists the urge to just take Dallon in right now.

Cause if there was one thing Brendon knew, it was that he loved sucking cock. He loved the taste, and he loved the feeling of being used. Just being a warm mouth for someone to buck into. It was one of the few times he could make Dallon fall apart. Even though it was a little scary, seeing the normally unshakeable boy crumble into pieces. His mouth wide open, face flushed, and eyes glazed over. Legs helplessly spread. 

With that particularly vivid thought in mind, Brendon begins sucking at the tip of Dallon’s cock. It grants him just a little bit of relief. Unable to help himself, he lets his lips go slack. “You can fuck my mouth, you know.”

“Such a tease…” Dallon mumbles, and grabs Brendon by his hair. “Just suck me off already.”

“You need it, huh?” It’s all too easy to egg Dallon on. To make him think he’s got something to prove.

“Oh for...” Dallon pushes him forward, forcing his cock into Brendon’s throat. Brendon just lets him, swirling his tongue occasionally and letting Dallon move his head around. Right now, Dallon’s holding back. He doesn’t want to be too rough. Brendon’s goal is to make him lose himself in the feeling, make him want it so bad he doesn’t care about hurting Brendon or not.

Brendon doesn’t mind being hurt.

He slides down, until Dallon’s full length is inside his mouth. “Fuck,” Dallon moans. “Fuck, Brendon, look at you, oh my god.“

He just stares up at Dallon with wide, lust-blown eyes. He’s so fucking hard right now, but that’s not the point. Brendon wants—correction, he needs—Dallon to spill in his mouth. It’s not about him, not now anyway. Dallon’s hips jerk up, and he knows he’s getting closer.

Brendon moans around his cock, sending warm jolts of electricity up his spine, and that seems to be it for Dallon. He begins fucking Brendon’s mouth in earnest, harder and faster as he goes on. Fucking finally, Brendon thinks. 

“Feels so good, you’re so fucking good at this, I—“ Dallon’s early degradations have turned into praise, and without looking Brendon knows he’s making _that_ face. The one that Brendon could come just looking at. 

His grip on Brendon’s hair has grown loose, and his thrusts sloppy, so Brendon takes the opportunity to bob his head up and down, fast as he can. Dallon is goo underneath him. Moaning obscenely. So far gone.

“F-fuck, Bren I’m close!” Dallon breathes.

At that Brendon grabs Dallon’s thighs, and it’s over. Dallon comes with a shout, all of it neatly into Brendon’s mouth. With a sigh, he pulls off Dallon’s cock, and licks his lips. 

Meanwhile Dallon’s eyes are fixed to the ceiling. His chest is still heaving, his mouth still wide open. Panting. “Mm.”

Brendon leans back, eventually resting on his elbows on the soft white carpet. “You’re gonna miss that when I win, you know,” he says.

That sentence seems to bring them both back into the present moment. Dallon hastily zips his pants up, and looks around. A broken wall-light. Several pieces of mismatched paisley furniture, no doubt chosen by Patrick. “Did you seriously just blow me in the living room?”

“Yep,” Brendon says, and sits next to Dallon. “It’s a miracle someone didn’t walk in.”

“Someone did.”

They both turn to see a disgruntled Spencer standing in the doorway. He’s carrying a bowl of fruit. “Oh hey Spence!” Brendon calls out cheerfully.

Spencer just shakes his head. “You are officially the worst brother ever.”

“Oh,” Brendon starts picking at his nails. “I know. Hey, me and Dallon came up with a new sex game today, wanna hear about it?”

Just like that, Spencer is gone.

  
  


Monday.

Brendon’s got a test. A Spanish test. Normally he wouldn’t care, but he’s got to get at least a C average this semester. This final Spanish test is what will make the difference. He can retake it of course, but he’s sick of retakes. Sick of sitting in during lunch. He wants everything over and done with. 

Unfortunately, Dallon sits behind him in Spanish class. 

It’s just all so wrong. They’re not out at school. They’re in completely different social circles, so they have no big reason to talk so often. They’re in the middle of class. They could be caught easily. It’s wrong. It’s bad. It’s…sinful. 

None of this stops Dallon from reaching his hand over, and palming Brendon when he’s about to finish the test. Brendon tries to close his legs, but it’s no use. 

“You’re hard,” Dallon says, leaning over to whisper it in Brendon’s ear. “Feels good, huh? I could make you feel so good, Bren. Just spread your legs.”

And in that moment, he knows he’s lost the first day. One way or other, he ends up fucking into Dallon’s hand, thanking god they’re in the back.

  
  


Tuesday.

In an intentional power move, Brendon comes to school in a pair of red lingerie. He wears a t-shirt and jeans over it, of course. But Dallon saw him get dressed in the morning. He knows.

He ruins them before third period. He ruins them again during fourth. And fifth. And sixth. Needless to say, Dallon wins the second day.

  
  


Wednesday.

“You’re losing,” Dallon writes on a bookmark, and then passes it to Brendon. They’re in the library, and they’re supposed to pick out books for future reading. Books about how bees make honey, and how America won and lost boring old wars. Brendon tries to hide in a stack of art history books, but Dallon finds him soon enough.

Brendon scowls. “I’m not losing,” he writes back. “You’re just being a jerk.”

He should’ve known better. Dallon raises an eyebrow, and scoots closer. He rips a new sheet of paper out of his notebook, and lays it in his lap so Brendon can read it. Dallon writes upon it nasty things. Unspoken things. The kind of words even Brendon blushes at saying. And Dallon writes them all down. It doesn’t take much for Brendon to reach towards his crotch, and brush his fingers against his growing erection.

Dallon bats his hand away, and replaces it with his own. “Brat,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t touch what’s mine.”

Brendon tosses his head back. “Daddy…”

And Dallon grins, cause Brendon so rarely says that. Even though he gets off to it like nothing else. “That’s right,” he says, his voice even quieter. (It is a library after all.) “You’re a little slut for daddy’s cock.” It’s a porno line, for sure, but it works on Brendon all too well. 

Even through the bright red blush now staining his cheeks, Brendon nods. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“All mine, baby. You’re all mine.”

  
  


Thursday.

The hallway, again. Dallon is counting up his score on a neat little card, and Brendon is just trying to move without wincing. 

“Ah, god,” Brendon frowns. “On the field? That’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. I think one of the freshman girls saw us. She was legit traumatized, Dal. We scarred her. For life. All just so you could gain a few points in a stupid game.”

Dallon holds up a finger. “All I could _win_ a stupid little game. There is a difference, Bren.”

“I don’t think I could tell the difference between black and white right now,” he sighs. Then he rests his head on Dallon’s shoulder. “So?”

Dallon shows him the scorecard, all too smug. “I’ve got thirty points. You? Eight.”

“…Fuck.”

  
  


Friday.

Brendon has stopped caring. They’re in the boy’s bathroom, and he’s facing the wall, pants and underwear pushed down to his ankles. The door is locked. Dallon’s thrusting into him again and again, just how he likes it. He wants to touch himself, but he can’t. Of course he can’t. 

“Uh, oh god—“ thrust “—Bren you’re so—“ thrust “—fucking—“ thrust “—loose, you been—“ thrust “—stretching yourself?” 

He’s too far gone to worry about punishments. “Yes!”

“Such a —“ thrust “—naughty boy. Turn—“ thrust “—around. Wanna see—“ thrust “—you when you cum.”

Brendon just nods, and obeys Dallon’s orders. “I—“ Once again, his words are cut off by Dallon’s hard thrusts. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how hard Dallon did it, how relentless. He’s not sure anyone can fuck him better.

Dallon places a hand over Brendon’s mouth. “Shh. Good sluts don’t talk.”

  
  


Saturday.

Watching TV. Twilight, the movie Brendon wholeheartedly calls his favorite, and Dallon can’t stand. Jon had said something about watching with them, but Brendon can’t blame him for bailing. Edward Cullen is smelling Bella Swan’s blood, and Dallon has three fingers in Brendon’s ass. He’s not sure how it happened exactly. Brendon just knows he lost. The game. What was it called again? Oh yeah. Fuck Points. Stupid ass name. 

Still, that doesn’t stop him from bouncing up and down on Dallon’s fingers, moaning like a fucking porn star. He agreed while walking home with Dallon: any kink he liked. Anything he wanted, Brendon would do. He’s both excited and terrified to find out what the big risky move is. So far it’s just been fingering, which is nice, but it’s not secret. It’s not scandalous. 

Dallon crooks his fingers. “Once the movie’s over, we’re going up to your room,” he says.

Of course. “Mm. Can I come? Please?” He’s so close already, just from the fingers, from the stretches, the brushes against his prostate. 

“After we go up to your room, you’re going to strip for me. And you’re going to kneel on that pastel bed of yours, completely naked.”

Brendon trembles. The combination of Dallon’s voice and the fingers inside is making it harder and harder to concentrate. “A-and then?” 

“I’m gonna whip you. Until you beg me to stop. You’re going to come just from that. Just from having me whip you, cause I know you can.” After finishing his sentence, Dallon pulls his fingers out. He flips Brendon over roughly, pushing him against the couch cushions. 

Truthfully, Brendon hadn’t expected to be fucked so early. He’d expected more of a build up to the fucking, more of that teasing Dallon had been mastering the past few weeks. Then again, it appears Dallon has other things on his mind. Brendon’s ass is already exposed, and after unzipping his pants, Dallon slides in with no resistance. Brendon moans into the pillows, but doesn’t bother to buck his hips up.

He knows Dallon likes it when he’s all relaxed like this, especially when it’s just the first round. Sometimes Dallon just wants to touch Brendon, to feel him get hard and fuck him right into a mattress without the bother of lube, of anything except them. 

To his credit, Dallon doesn’t start pounding immediately. He starts in with slow, languid thrusts. Carefully fucking Brendon, listening to the noises he makes with Dallon hits one spot versus another. Then, he snaps. He starts absolutely letting Brendon have it, taking advantage of how truly stretched Brendon is. He pushes in and out, panting as he feels the snug heat of Brendon’s ass surround him again and again. 

After a few more long hard thrusts, he comes inside Brendon. He’s done it so many times that it could hardly count as a special moment. But it feels special. Brendon always feels special.

The smaller boy raises his head with a question in his eyes. Dallon nods. Almost immediately, Brendon turns on his back, and quickly reaches between his legs. He strokes himself sloppily, just trying to get to orgasm as quickly as he can. 

Dallon hovers above him, enjoying the view. “How does it feel, baby?” 

“Feels good, daddy,” Brendon answers between moans. 

“Does it feel as good as when daddy fucks you?” Dallon asks, teasingly sliding a finger up and down Brendon’s left thigh. Brendon has such pale, smooth skin and he can’t help but stare.

Brendon shakes his head, or at least tries to. “No—oh, fuck—daddy you fuck me so good, I—shit—I couldn’t!” He’s still not quite there yet, not getting enough friction. The sight of him struggling, eyes screwed shut, lips swollen, is enough to get Dallon more than a little hard again. 

“Oh, god.” Dallon just can’t resist. He swats Brendon’s hand away, and picks him up. It takes much too long to hurry to Brendon’s room, where he knows the whips, vibrators, and other toys are. Where they can finally be at peace.

A secret closet for any secrets I could possibly have. That was the original idea a twelve year old Brendon had come up with. Over the years, it had turned into a mini kingdom of kink. Of forbidden. Of fuck-me. It was Brendon’s favorite part of the house, and Dallon’s too. 

They tumbled onto Brendon’s bed with the grace of baby swans. There was simultaneously too much clothes and too little, as both Brendon and Dallon struggled to take their shirts off. They managed, even with the tragic loss of a few buttons. Dallon presses a few open mouthed kisses to Brendon’s nipples, leaving the boy breathless and gripping the sheets. Then he grabs a whip from the nightstand, and Brendon’s eyes widen.

“Don’t worry I’ll—“ Dallon takes his socks off as Brendon lies on his stomach “—I won’t go too hard.”

The thing is, they've never done this before. They’ve talked about it, but Brendon’s never been whipped. He’s felt the thing slide past his skin, or looked at the marks the occasional brush made in the mirror. Dallon doesn’t know why he so badly wants Brendon to experience this, but he does.

A test crack against the bedpost.

A neat little snap noise.

Dallon smirks. He’s sitting by the foot of the bed, looking at a trembling Brendon. All the power in his hands. Fate in his hands. Destiny in his hands. All of it, in the form of a whip. He almost feels high when he raises the thing. Like he’s reached some other plane of existence. A nicer one. Softer. With pretty boys and exposed skin. Rose colored eyeglasses. Whips.

Snap.

One long red streak across Brendon’s back. “Daddy, it hurts!”

Snap.

Another joins the second. Dallon feels intoxicated just looking at the marks, knowing he made them. He changed Brendon. He altered him. “I know it does, baby. How much does it hurt?”

Snap.

“Hurst so much! Hurts so good daddy!” Brendon’s screaming, his hoarse voice bouncing off the walls. Dallon’s tempted to fuck him again now, but he figures he should save it. Should wait until he’s got in a few more red lines.

Snap.

Still, a little feedback wouldn’t hurt. “You can come from just this, can’t you?” Dallon moves so he can see Brendon’s hard cock, mushed against the bed. Brendon isn’t touching himself. Good little baby. Waiting for permission.

Snap. 

“Yes daddy! Can come just from it daddy, I’m so close!” Dallon smirks. He decides the next line will be the last. Brendon is so pretty, looking wrecked like that. But he’s had enough.

Snap!

With one final rub against the bed, Brendon starts coming. He hasn’t let himself go like this in a while, Dallon realizes. It’s just too perfect, the thought of Brendon Urie coming his hardest after being whipped. Dallon almost doesn’t realize he’s touching himself to it. 

But Brendon does. Looking like he just ran a marathon, Brendon collapses into Dallon’s arms, before placing a hand over Dallon’s own. “Wanna…” he trails off. “Wanna get you off.” The four words leave his tongue with the weight of small boulders. 

Dallon sits back, and spreads his legs. He’s been fully hard for a while now, and it’s fucking heaven to feel Brendon’s hand on him. It’s not the best hand job he’s ever received, as he can feel Brendon’s breath hitching and his technique losing its finesse as he goes on. But he doesn’t need a mind blowing hand job, just some touch. Just skin. 

“Love how eager you are to please me,” Dallon says, staring right into Brendon’s chocolate eyes. “You’re so fucking pretty, you know that? So pretty. And so dirty. You’ve got a dirty mind, you little slut.”

Brendon groans, and starts rubbing against Dallon’s thigh. At this point Brendon’s a complete mess, getting himself off one second and Dallon the other. Still, he does his best. A few more quick strokes, and Dallon’s coming, all over Brendon’s chest. “Fuck!”

Then Brendon really collapses. Too tired to speak, he mimes zipping his mouth shut. They just lie there together for a while. Content in their own filth.

“You’re not gonna win next week either,” Dallon murmurs, eyes closed. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Brendon bites his lip. As if to say, “we’ll see.”

  
  
  



	2. Degrading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another smutty piece of smutty smutty smut with just a dash of plot. Theres...stuff. You'll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not updating this again until Dysfun is done because goddammit I need to discipline myself better. Anyways.

It’s a Sunday night. Little kids are losing energy. Hangovers are starting to kick in. Parties are winding down. And George Ryan Ross Wentz is trying to find the loudest possible record to play in hopes of waking the dead.

Ryan’s collection isn’t the most extensive, but he’s got all his favorites, plus quite a few extras. Some he doesn’t even play—just stares at cause he likes how pretty the covers are. It’s a peaceful little existence. Playing vinyls with an old record player and reading the lyrics to each song. Studying during the skippable tracks. A lovely little way to spend his time. That was utterly ruined. By a goddamn twink.

Brendon gasps when Dallon grabs his wrists. He’s pushed into the mattress again, helpless against Dallon’s legs and arms. It’s not like he’s completely surprised—they’d been lying in their own afterglow, and the room still smells like sweat. He’d just been hoping for a bit of a break. 

“Oh shit!” Brendon felt Dallon’s cock slide into him again. Even though he’s absolutely spent, he does his best to take it, gripping the sheets. 

Dallon bites into his neck. Brendon would tease Dallon about how often he did that, if he didn’t find it so fucking hot. “You came so early,” Dallon says all-too-calmly. “You wanted to, really bad, huh?”

Brendon nods. 

“Mm. Well if you want to come so bad—“ Dallon begins fucking him, hard and fast “—why don’t you do it again?”

And Brendon whimpers, cause he’s come maybe ten times in the last few hours, and Dallon still isn’t done. Dallon hasn’t been done with him ever since he won last week. It’s amazing, of course it is, how delirious he feels when Dallon fucks him through another orgasm. But it’s also tiring—he’s so tired. He wants control. And the only way he can do it is by winning the game.

Which he has no idea how to do. Dallon reaches over to start stroking his cock, and it’s way too much, all at once. “Fuck!” 

Dallon knows what he’s doing. His nails scratch over Brendon’s slit, and he can tell, even through all the protests, Brendon really fucking needs this. He keeps bracing himself for Brendon to pull away, but he never does. Brendon always draws Dallon a bit closer. He’s addicted, sure, but they both are. 

“You’re doing so well,” Dallon says. He almost sounds awed. 

Brendon’s hands go to Dallon’s sides as if of their own accord. He’s on the verge of tears, but manages to hold them back. “Dal, I-“

A loud guitar riff breaks through the moans. 

It’s accompanied by a snarling vocal. “Your dream vacation…”

Dallon pauses. 

“…is my hostage refuge!”

Brendon stops twitching.

“A work in progress!”

Ryan sits on the other side of the wall, content. He is playing The Used. The bad noises have stopped. Win-win.

“Bren, oh my god, Bren turn around,” Dallon huffs in his ear. He’s got Brendon lying on his stomach in a place they really shouldn’t be. It’s not like they’re the first pair of horny teens to meet up at the edge of the school, but given it’s so early in the morning, they’re probably the first today. 

Yet he does turn around, even though it’s a bit awkward when Dallon’s still above him. “Yeah?” He comes off more breathless than he’d like.

Then Dallon takes his head in his hands and kisses him, and Brendon can’t help but stop worrying about sounding breathless. He kisses back. 

Dallon’s eyes darken. He starts grinding against Brendon’s crotch. Forcing Brendon to feel exactly how turned on he is. “Fuck, do you think you can—“

“Like this? Course.” They’ve got time. They always do. 

It’s exactly what Dallon wants to hear. “Oh my god.” 

It’s Monday though, and Brendon can’t help but curse himself for getting into this position so soon. For letting Dallon pin him down and use him as some kind of automatic friction device. That is what Dallon’s doing, after all. He growls and grinds on Brendon’s skin until he’s had enough. Until he’s won. But Brendon’s got time. He always does.

It’s halfway through third period when Brendon realizes what he needs to do. It's not the most original idea, but he’s proud of himself nonetheless. Cause right now they’re tied—ten to ten. And Brendon’s gonna break that tie. He stands up, and although Dallon’s on the opposite side of the room, it doesn’t take much to get his attention. 

“Um, teacher-person?” He raises his hand to a few background giggles.

The poor substitute raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I…” He stalls for a second, before settling on an old reliable. “I have to go to the bathroom. Now.”

She just lets him go with a wave of the hand. 

He races down the hallway, feeling a little lightheaded. Maybe it’s the rush of having a plan, or just the thought of winning, but whatever it is, it leads him to the second-floor bathroom in just a few minutes.

And as soon as he closes the door, Dallon is right behind him. Which, okay.

Dallon digs his nails into Brendon’s sides, and it takes all of Brendon’s willpower to not give in right there. Cause he knows if he does, Dallon’s gonna make him feel so fucking good. Still. The game. Control. Brendon wrestles himself out of Dallon’s grip, and pushes him up against the wall. 

“What—“ Dallon actually looks caught off guard, which Brendon considers an excellent start.

He reaches a hand over to make quick work of Dallon’s jeans. Soon he’s grasping Dallon’s cock through underwear. Brendon sees Dallon’s muscles twitch, and uses his other hand to press Dallon’s shoulder against the wall. Making sure he doesn’t move. 

“Bren. I don’t.“ Dallon’s breath catches in his throat. Air seems to be working differently for him. Which makes sense, given that Dallon just isn’t submissive. It’s not how they’ve ever done things.  
Still, Brendon feels a surge of /want/ in his chest when he sees Dallon’s shoulder’s quiver. A kind of curl in his stomach. Possessiveness. That’s what it is. Fuck.

Now for the kill shot. Brendon tightens his grip. “You are a little fucking slut for master, aren’t you?”

That’s all it takes for Dallon to fall apart. He lets out a loud, obscene moan, and then Brendon knows he’s going to win. “Think this should be worth a few extra points, huh?” he purrs.

Dallon can’t look him in the eye. “M-maybe.”

Brendon just smirks, cause Dallon’s already hardening in his hand. He teases for a while, rubbing little circles around Dallon’s crotch. It makes Dallon toss his head back, and now Brendon really regrets not trying this sooner. “Oh my god. You’re going to fucking lose, you know that?” He feels a need to brag. “I’m going to fuck you so hard too. Raw. No prep. Karma’s a bitch, huh?”

He slides a hand into Dallon’s underwear. Even though Dallon’s towering above him, he doesn’t feel small. Cause Dallon’s eyes are fixed permanently on the ceiling, and his legs are wobbling against Brendon’s. “I—“

“Why so shy?” Brendon speeds up his hand. He knows Dallon is close, and he wants to degrade him as much as he can before he comes. “You’re usually pretty cocky, but now, no. How come?”

The word ’whore’ dances on the tip of his tongue.

“Such a fucking—oh my god—sadist.” Dallon breathes.

Brendon presses himself against Dallon, and effectively shoves him even further against the wall. “Now that’s just not true, dally. I’m not a sadist.”

“Then what the fuck are you?” Dallon manages to say when Brendon starts slowing down. God it must be torture, to have all the touch you want in one second and the absolute minimum the next. 

“Mean.” Brendon raises his lips to brush against Dallon’s chin, and for a moment it looks like they might kiss. But Brendon does something even better. 

He bites down on Dallon’s lip. Hard.

“Ow, fuck!” There are actual tears forming in Dallon’s eyes, and he decides it’s gone on long enough.

“Quiet, baby. Good sluts don’t talk.” He twists his fingers one last time, and that’s all it takes. Dallon comes, pulsing in Brendon’s hand. Silently. Doing his best to obey. 

Brendon moves away quickly, going to wash his hands in the sink. He purposefully leaves Dallon there. Panting against the wall. It’s easy to see him in the mirror, shakily putting his pants back on.

God, did Brendon actually rattle him?

“So.” Brendon stands next to Dallon again. He holds the points notebook in a firm grip. “How many?”

Dallon just looks at him with tired eyes. “Fuck, Brendon, put however many you want.”

His hair is messy, and his limbs are jutting out at random angles. Brendon watches Dallon sink to the ground, and he’d find it adorable, he really would, if Dallon wasn’t suddenly face-level with his dick. He’s still hard too.

Dallon realizes his position all too late. “Wait, Bren. Please.”

Brendon laughs. The thing is, Dallon hasn’t actually sucked him off before—they’ve never even discussed it. Brendon has a few theories as to why, but in general he’s content with a mouthful of Dallon’s cock. He’s still fine with Dallon not going down on him right now, but he likes the look of fear in Dallon’s eyes.

So he stands over Dallon, and raises one eyebrow. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth, babe. But not today.”

“I…” Dallon’s words die on his lips as he watches Brendon unzip his pants, and eagerly begin jerking off. Right in front of him. It’s impossible not to look at the precut sliding off the tip, or Brendon’s quickening hand. It’s impossible to not imagine licking up the—fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Meanwhile Brendon can’t hold back his whines. Just one look at Dallon’s wide eyes and open mouth, and he can’t take it anymore. “Fuck, Dallon!” 

He comes with a gasp, and Dallon’s still staring up at him. Looking so damn helpless. Brendon’s tired now, but he still reaches his come-covered hand out towards the crouching boy. “Clean me up, baby,” he says.

Dallon licks at his hand with hesitant, minute strokes. Slowly he grows more confident, lapping at the drips that get on his chin. Brendon can only watch. He becomes more aware of how pink Dallon’s lips are, how wide his pupils can get, and the little groans coming out of his mouth.

It almost makes him want to go again.

But he lets Dallon finish, and pulls his hand back gently. “Come on Dally. We’ve got class.”

Friday.

Brendon almost doesn’t catch Dallon leaving class. Still, through the sudden swell of student’s it’s easy enough to find the one kid taller than all the others. Even better, he can grasp Dallon’s hand and no one will notice. Everyone is too caught up in their own fucked-up lives to see Brendon rest his head on Dallon’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Brendon says once they’re outside, and more importantly, alone.

“Hey yourself.” There’s tension in Dallon’s voice though, that can’t be denied.

They haven’t talked a lot since Monday. There were snatches of conversation here and there, about the weather and homework, and of course some dirty talk, but that’s nothing when they spend so much time together. Brendon’s worried. Of course he’s worried. Teasing is fun, and it was nice to see Dallon not in total control for once, but nothing is worse than Dallon avoiding him. Nothing hurts more.

“I’m sorry.” Brendon apologizes in the back of his car. One hand resting on his own thigh, the other on Dallon’s. A little awkward. He tries to sound as sincere as he feels.

Dallon smiles at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I don’t wanna—“ Brendon huffs. “I don’t wanna make you feel bad though. Like, I feel like I made you feel weird and that’s so not my goal.”

“You did make me feel a little weird,” Dallon concedes. “But not, not in a bad way, okay?”

He slumps in his seat. Brendon moves over to brush a hand across Dallon’s forearm. “So I—“

“Let’s just go to your house.” Dallon gets up, and though he bumps his head a few times, he manages to make it to the driver’s seat.

Brendon settles in beside him, and slides a hand under Dallon’s shirt. It only takes a few soft caresses of Dallon’s nipples to get his chest heaving. “We—we can’t, not here, please, please, please—“

There are still a few stragglers in the parking lot. The logical part of Brendon’s brain knows they could be seen. Very easily too. Arrested, even. He doesn’t stop. “Start driving dally. Not too fast either. Don’t disobey your master.”

Dallon doesn’t.

They enter a quiet house. Or maybe not. Maybe the blood rushing to Brendon’s ears is drowning out all the sounds other than Dallon’s whimpers as Brendon drags him up the stairs. Either way, Brendon breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Dallon spread across the bed, hair sticking out at odd angles.

“What…what are you gonna do?” Dallon asks.

Truth be told, Brendon doesn’t know. But he’s got a few ideas. He strips Dallon carelessly, tossing the clothes aside with a frenzied motion. “Oh honey you’re going to be screaming for me.”

Dallon seems to like that, if the way he bucks his hips is any indication. When he’s finally naked, Brendon takes a moment to look at him. He’s so exposed, contrasting brightly with the white mattress. “Just…” He thrusts forward, wanting some kind of touch. “…Get on with it. Please.”

And oh god, Dallon is lucky he looks so good begging. Brendon licks his fingers once, twice. He’s got his shirt unbuttoned, but other than that is fully covered. It makes him feel a little odd, being the only one clothed, but he just decides to focus on Dallon’s breathes. His flushed cheeks and curled toes. “Oh you filthy whore.”

He rubs a finger against Dallon’s tight entrance. He can tell right away it’s not something Dallon was expecting, as he jerks up abruptly and moans. “M-master?”

“Did you like that?” Brendon begins edging the finger in. Slowly. Carefully. He enjoys watching how Dallon’s hips twitch, and his hands try to grasp at nothing.

Dallon swallows. “Yes…like it a—oh god—I like it!”

He adds a second finger, and really it’s heaven to watch Dallon lose it over so little. “You’re fucking desperate for this, aren’t you? You’re my obedient little pet. So eager to take me.”

“It’s so, so much, I—“ Dallon is cut off by his own low moan.

“Tell me.” Brendon mounts one of Dallon’s legs, using the new angle to drive his fingers even further in. “Tell me all about how much you love this.”

Dallon stares up at the ceiling as Brendon crooks his fingers. “I love it, master!”

“Aww, I’m touched.” He digs a sharp nail into Dallon’s neck. Strong enough to leave a fat red mark. “You’re a needy little slut. Say it.”

“I’m a needy little slut!” Dallon cries out.

Brendon pushes a third finger into Dallon’s abused hole, and begins roughly scissoring them. Dallon’s absolutely drowning in pleasure now. His speech is becoming incoherent, and Brendon can tell, because he knows Dallon, knows him so fucking well, that he’s close.

Maybe that’s why Brendon pulls his fingers out with a loud pop. He watches Dallon cry out at the sudden feeling of emptiness, before reaching into his pocket. “Darling, don’t cry.”

“Want—“ Dallon actually sniffs. “—Back inside me. Please, Bren. Please.”

“Not my name.” Brendon pulls a rubber ring out of his pocket, and grins. “Now hold still so I can put this ring on that pretty cock of yours.”

Despite all his hard-earned survival instincts, Dallon holds still. He feels the rubber settle around the base of his dick, and the calluses on Brendon’s hand as he twists the devious thing. It’s such a sharp combination of pain and pleasure that Dallon has to look away.

He almost doesn’t notice the sound of Brendon unbuckling his pants, and a belt being tossed aside. Almost. He closes his eyes, more out of uncertainty than anything else. “W-what…”

Brendon straddles him, and forces one of Dallon’s eyes open. “One rule, dally. No moving.” Then he sinks down on Dallon’s cock.

Dallon sighs. 

He knows exactly what Brendon’s doing—using him. Just like he’d use a dildo or vibrator or some other meaningless sex toy. The thought alone could make Dallon come right then and there, if not for the damned cock ring.

“Oh…” Brendon lets his head hang back as he shamelessly rides Dallon’s dick. He pushes down on the chest below him, and tries not to moan too loud.

Dallon inhales sharply. “Master!”

“I’m your—“ Brendon gasps as Dallon hits his prostate, and begins to ride him even harder. “Fuck, I’m your master, yes, gonna fucking—you like it when I use you, you little slut, oh my god—“

There’s a hard, leaking cock on Dallon’s stomach and he can’t touch it. He can’t touch it. Or come. Fuck. “Master, please!” 

Brendon doesn’t seem to be listening, his thighs shaking as he bounces up and down. “Oh, baby I’m close!” he whines, and Dallon knows he’s just torturing him even more. 

“Please…” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore, just something. Anything. Please.

“Fuck me Dallon, fuck me!” Brendon sinks down on Dallon’s cock one more time, and then he’s coming, all over Dallon’s stomach. He pulls off with a soft gasp, before lying down next to the other, still-hard boy.

Brendon lazily slides the cock ring off, too sated to worry about being dominant. Dallon whimpers next to him. “Bren…that was…”

“You were so good.” Brendon presses a kiss to Dallon’s wet lips. “So, so good for me baby.”

Then he scoots down the filth-covered bed, until he’s face to face with Dallon’s aching cock. Dallon still hasn’t moved to jerk himself off, despite how much he obviously wants to. Brendon likes that. So he takes Dallon’s cock in his mouth, and sucks him down in one fluid motion.

Dallon can’t help but twist his fingers in Brendon’s hair. “Oh my god,” he says weakly as Brendon begins bobbing his head.

“Gonna—oh god, gonna be over real soon,” he warns with a groan. “Fuck, you’re so fucking good at this.”

Brendon had just enough time to pull off before Dallon was coming all over the mattress. 

He gives Dallon a moment to breathe before lying down again, and nestling into Dallon’s side. He hears noises from downstairs—creaks and knocks—but he can’t find it in himself to wonder if people heard them. Or to care if they did.

“This is going to be the best week ever,” he says. And Dallon smiles, despite himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup ryry.

**Author's Note:**

> *fingerguns* comments and kudos yo. my lifeblood.


End file.
